


FKA

by Mathissi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Angst, Breakups, F/M, M/M, Seattle Universe, probably alcoholics, relationship drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:24:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mathissi/pseuds/Mathissi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles was never too concerned with the prospects of finding love. He’d always expected that love would simply fall into his lap at some point, but the cruel realities that arrived with high school were an unfortunate awakening. Though his four years of Beacon Hills High hell proved that he actually had to work in order for a relationship to be successful, he decided that they were no longer worth his time. Or so he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

I. Preface

Stiles was never too concerned with the prospects of finding love. He’d always expected that love would simply fall into his lap at some point, but the cruel realities that arrived with high school were an unfortunate awakening. Though his four years of Beacon Hills High hell proved that he actually had to work in order for a relationship to be successful, he decided that they were no longer worth his time.  
College only furthered his ideals on love – that he didn’t really need a relationship in order to be satisfied. College was beautiful because it allowed the absence of his father to make way for the various individuals (men, woman, and other) that trailed in and out of his dorm room. Fortunately, his roommate, Scott, didn’t seem too perturbed, as he continuously slept over at his girlfriend, Allison’s house.  
Stiles was no idiot, he made sure to use protection, specifically so that he could continue his promiscuous lifestyle. There would be little point to having an egregious number of one night stands if he were to contract something that caused his favorite appendage to shrivel up, die, then fall off slowly. He wasn’t an idiot – never had been – and he was not one to pick up new habits.  
A large amount of the people with whom he slept were attractive, typically blondes for the women (he sensed insecurities in their desires to detach themselves from the ‘stereotypical blonde’ archetype) and dark, awkward but beautiful men. Stiles himself knew that he fit into the awkward category, but he used an overlarge confidence level as a method of seduction. It seemed to work, so he rarely bothered whether or not he was the most attractive man in the room. The fraternities on the campus claimed he had ‘serious game’, however, none of them had much hope of graduating from the college, so that was a title he didn’t attach to himself.  
The college years for him were simple enough: he graduated with honors in both business and criminology, and a minor in classical mythology. His social life was simple, he had continued to room with Scott and they’d developed an awkward friendship, and Stiles even understood his attraction to Allison. They were sort of the power couple of his life, and their relationship actually represented what he had hoped he could have had in high school.  
One of the larger issues Stiles encountered during his years at college was because of his sexual ‘game’ (he saw it as chess, so he chose to call it a game for a sick sort of personal irony). There was this one girl named Leila – or was it Lauren? Shit! – a girl, who after two nights together felt as though she owned Stiles. Needless to say, she was displeased when he told her, “I’m in love with someone else, and thus I hate myself for what I did to you.”   
It caused her to go on a rampage through his apartment, causing him to get a restraining order (lucky his father was a police officer, making it much easier to file) and causing her to be forcibly evicted from the campus. Needless to say, he was able to deal with anyone who felt too… attached.  
After graduation, Scott proposed to Allison and she moved into their apartment (which was rather largely sized for a Seattle apartment complex), making his home appear much busier than it ever had. Not that he minded at all, he felt very attached to Scott and he really did enjoy Allison. His main gripe was that they were so much like a couple. He just didn’t get it… until he met Keenan.  
When Stiles began an internship at the STARE corporate offices (a shipping company making mergers with all the large Seattle Corporations), he met a dark and awkward man, beautiful, at least more beautiful than he had ever expected to see in the workplace. And, unlike any other relationship he’d had before, Stiles knew he was hooked.


	2. Lights On

II. Lights On

On a Friday night, Keenan was waiting for Stiles when he pushed through the front door carrying an armfuls amount of Thai food from their favorite little eatery in Fremont. “Hey, boy, hey!” he yelled and Stiles responded with a smile and a wink. He set the food on the coffee table and Keenan began to eat ravenously.

Scott came out of his and Allison’s room, his nose stuck up in the air like a wolf howling at the moon and Stiles quickly threw a chopstick at him. Earlier that evening, the perfect little couple had been warned that they were not allowed to interrupt what Stiles felt he needed to do. Scott, in all his dog-like innocence, had no clue to what Stiles was referring; however, Allison was intuitive enough for the both of them. Stiles praised the day she had chosen Scott – no one was better for him than her.

“Hey,” Stiles swept to sit on the couch next to his boyfriend/fuck buddy/he wasn’t exactly sure, “how was your day?”

“Pretty good,” he said, mouth half full, “but I was so happy you got food. I really needed something before we hit the sack.” Keenan nudged at Stiles’ side, jokingly, making Stiles squirm and flinch.

“Right,” Stiles felt uncomfortable for a moment, before he chose to push through, “so can I ask you something real quick?” He said all this really quickly, the words almost becoming an incomprehensible amalgamation of letters.

“Mmmghf?” Keenan responded through a mouthful.

“I know that you like to spend time here, and I really like having you here. I mean you’re here right now, so I hope you like to spend time here, but I get if you don’t, but I really just shouldn’t assume.” He mentally smacked himself across the face out of annoyance. He was rambling again. “Anyway, I wanted to see if you either wanted to stay here for a while, like a long time, or maybe permanently, or if you wanted to get a drawer or if you wanted to get a place just for the two of us. I mean I love my roommates, but it’s kinda awkward when they walk in on us doing stuff on the couch and then we have to apologize. So I just thought maybe we could make it easier, ya know? So what do you think… uh…”

Keenan swallowed a little bit before looking back at Stiles and smirking. “You’re so funny.” He reached out and patted Stiles on the head. “But why would we complicate what we have. It’s already easy enough to just commute between apartments. I mean, we’re just fucking, so…” he quickly took another mouthful and turned back to the television program he’d been watching whilst waiting for Stiles.

Just fucking? But there was more to what they had than simply fucking, wasn’t there? He thought this over and over again. He felt as though he were descending into a trance, a descending whirlpool of confusion and a set of two words wrapping around each other in an endless circular trap. Just fucking? Stiles stopped for a moment, pausing for a second to breathe.

“Keenan, either come over here and take me, or leave me the hell alone and break me.”

“Stiles, I’m eating. Can’t it wait?”

Stiles stood, letting his arms swing at his sides. “Get out.” He spoke calmly, almost so calmly that Keenan didn’t notice.

“Huh? What?” the other man pulled his eyes from the television and looked at Stiles inquisitively.

“Get. Out.” Stiles articulated, more succinctly he felt.

Keenan laughed, igniting a fire under Stiles. “Babe, just sit down. It’s okay.” He was trying to sound southing, and it only aggravated Stiles further.

“I said, ‘get the fuck out of my goddamned house’.” Stiles felt his arms shaking, his hands clenched white at his side. He no longer wanted to feel anything, specifically anything from him.

“Babe…”

“GET OUT!” Stiles screamed, instantly hearing scampering from the other room. Keenan held up his hands, taking a quick step back after jumping up from the couch. From the side door, Scott burst through, his eyes wide and his head turning back and forth around the room. Allison’s face peeked out from behind the doorframe, her mouth half way to chastising Scott for bursting out. Then she felt the tension of the room hit her.

“Stiles…” Keenan said in the most condescending manner possible, making the struggle to keep from grabbing his neck even more difficult.

“I thought,” Stiles began, his voice barely above a quivering whisper, “I told you to get out, didn’t I?” There was no response. “Didn’t I?”  
Scott took the lull in conversation to step into the fray. He took ahold of Keenan’s bicep, pulling lightly against the fabric of his shirt. 

“Man, you better get out of here before things get worse. You can call Stiles in the morning.”

“Don’t you dare,” Stiles half yelled, a chuckle rising in his throat as he walked to take a glass from the cabinet. “Don’t’ you call me.”

“Stiles!” Scott snapped, giving his best friend a knowing look, “Keenan, you can call him in the morning. Give him some time to cool off, yeah?”

Keenan stood, his face not showing the issues presently at hand. “Whatever.” He laughed a little bit as he gave a half wave before leaving the apartment. Stiles screamed with fury, finally allowing his anger to overtake him. The shattering glass registered before Stiles realized that he had thrown his cup across the room at the door. He looked down at his hand, which was damp with water from the glass. Stiles screamed – not a frustrated harrumph but an actual, voice cracking, anguished, full volume scream of pure anger. Neither Scott nor Allison moved, both staring to make sure he didn’t harm himself or something.

What the fuck?! Stiles thought, brooding over the past five minutes. Who the fuck does he think he is and where does he get off? As thought I would be his fuck buddy for life? He should have been happy to be with me, that ungrateful little dick. Oh my god… he just seriously walked out of that door. He left me here. That’s it. He and I… we’re finished. Are we?

Stiles felt the world around him collapse into a spiraling vortex. His eyes refused to focus on anything and his knees ached with the sharp pains that the connection with hardwood floors caused. Slowly, as he felt his body sinking into the drain that was his mind, his chest began to seize up, as though someone had him by the throat. Somewhere inside the circling thoughts, the two words panic attack floated to the forefront of his vision. In his sudden realization, his chest tensed, and he couldn’t breathe.

“Stiles! Oh my god, Allison!” there was scuffling before Stiles’ vision, a blurred color wheel, “Stiles! Shit, get him some water. Buddy, stay with me. Hey, look at me, Stiles, look at me.” Stiles’ breathing increased to a frightening pace, hyperventilation momentarily in the wings. “Stiles!” Scott was yelling at his face, but Stiles only could recognize the echoes of his voice. Then Scott took his best friend in his arms, pulling him close and squeezing. Stiles couldn’t breathe, Scott pushing any excess air from his lungs and making him feel as though he were drowning. Then it all drained away, fading into blackness.

When the lights in Stiles’ mind finally seemed to begin to click on again, he felt as though he were coming out of a coma (though really he had absolutely no reference point to this feeling). It was almost like the experience of lighting up a house. First one lights the nearest light, then with that path illuminated, the Lighter may proceed to the next switch, igniting another light. This process continues, one by one until the entire house is alight. As it was with his mind, he could almost watch the progression of lights illuminating his mind.

What probably was a minute maximum felt like a slow eternity to Stiles, specifically the moments when his mind was mostly awake. When he opened his eyes, all was dark again. The lights had been turned off and the drapes had been closed. His eyes easily readjusted to the darkness and he made his way to the door. The rest of the apartment was dark, and he inhaled slowly, his parched lips parting while small bits of the skin stuck to each other. Moving through the hallway he stopped in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water from the tap and taking a big gulp, allowing the water to flow over his chapped lips.

He set the glass down and grabbed the sides of the sink, leaning in and thinking. This is really over. The only relationship I’ve ever had and it’s completely over. He still felt a bit of shock when he reminisced on the previous night, but it all felt ethereally surreal. And now here I am with absolutely no one to love. It was that thought that sent him reeling more than any other – it was a thought he’d never expected to have or to actually want to have. Stiles breathed though, trying not to instigate another panic attack, then drained his cup.

When he looked at the clock, he realized that the time only read 12:03am. He tried to think back and realized that the time that had felt like an eternity couldn’t have been more than three hours. He quickly turned to the cabinet above the refrigerator and pushed aside bottles of Kahlua, a can of Coors, and various other beverages looking for something strong. He really felt the urge to take the edge off of both his head and his emotional state. Unfortunately, he was unlucky enough to find nothing harder than the Kahlua.  
In a semi-motivated state, he pushed himself from the counter and half sprinted the hallway to his room. When he reached his nightstand he quickly pulled his wallet and keys from the drawer, he bounded back through the apartment, hearing one of Scott’s snores as he closed the door soundlessly. He chose to take the stairs instead of the elevator, attempting to burn out some of his newly recognized energy, but he soon regretted the choice when his head began to spin. No matter, he mentally murmured and continued down the street.

He really wasn’t going very far. The apartment was in a complex in the upper half of the Fremont neighborhood, and he only had to walk down Third Street in order to reach a small, abused and incredibly worn down liquor store. The walk down was easy enough; he just knew he was going to hate having to walk back up the hill. Silently, he praised himself for not living on Queen Anne hill (the largest in the city). He almost broke into a jog as the incline of the hill caught up to him, but he kept his feet under control, simply fearing falling over and rolling down the hill.

When he stepped through the door to the store, the clerk paid him little attention, simply sitting behind the counter and continuing to read his book. Stiles grabbed a basket, thinking he may as well help stock up their supplies while he was at the store, and began to mill through the bottles after bottles. After grabbing three bottles of Beringer wine, he grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels (a Pepper Jack being his favorite sipping drink). He fingered through the few flavored vodkas, he decided he might as well get a bottle of basic, unflavored vodka for mixing. He whirled around to face the other side of the aisle, nearly bumping into a man wearing a worn red sweatshirt.

He jerked away trying to prevent any collision and the bottles in his basket rattled around. The other man had a dark brow; thick eyebrows and deep green eyes that made Stiles blink and turn a bit red. “Sorry,” he mumbled in apology, moving out of the man’s way. The man was silent, but he looked down at the basket and raised one of those gloriously full eyebrows. “I swear, they’re for me and my roommates. Not just me. Swear.” Stiles was, yet again, doing the thing where he felt an unnecessary need to over explain the reasoning behind his actions. So what if I want all this for myself? He thought, bitterly.

The man lowered his eyebrow and gave Stiles a quizzical look of sheer skepticism, making Stiles flush. “I never mentioned anything about the bottles.” The man said, and Stiles lowered his gaze to the floor, partially embarrassed that he had just justified his non-alcoholism, making him seem even more like an alcoholic. The man again, glanced into the basket, “Rough night?”  
“Something like that,” Stiles mumbled, still looking at the ground.

“Well,” the man spoke more enthusiastically, holding out his hand, “the name’s Derek. Derek Hale. And I just so happen to be proficient in drinking away problems if you’d like to join me.”

Reaching out and shaking Derek’s extended hand, Stiles let his mouth fall open. Again, those green eyes were dancing like absinth fairies in a twisted stupor. “Stiles Stilinski.” Derek scoffed, trying to hide his laughter at the name. Stiles rolled his eyes and continued, “My real name is weird and Polish and no one could pronounce it, so don’t blame my five year old self for choosing to go by something I could actually spell in English.”

At that, Derek laughed aloud, creating a musical symphony of light chimes and rumbling tympani drums with a subtly chirping flute. He nodded his head as if giving some sort of approval, and then he retracted his hand and pulled a bottle of vodka from the shelf. 

“So, how about that sorrow drinking I was mentioning?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!!!! I love feedback! I hope to continue updating on a quick and regular schedule (but don't hate me if I can't!). I know I have some stuff coming up, but I hope it doesn't interfere with writing!!!!
> 
> THANK YOU for reading what I'm writing!


	3. Two Weeks

III. Two Weeks

“… so then this assface decides it is absolutely acceptable to just have me – I mean, me,” Stiles rolls his eyes with the emphasis, “as his side guy. Puh-lease!!! I mean, I may be a good fuck, but I’m sure as hell not just a side-fuck.” Stiles paused for a second, as though he were thinking, then concluding the tale of woe with, “That bitch!”

Derek simply sat on the curb, listening in earnest to every word Stiles spoke, watching the unique way his mouth moved to form the words and the creative strings of sentences he made. Every few paragraphs of speech, Derek took a swig from his bottle of the vodka he’d bought just for this special conversation. As he watched Stiles recount his miseries, Derek couldn’t help but enjoy the way he couldn’t seem to keep still and during the moments when he wasn’t moving, he even seemed to vibrate. It was enchanting, to say the least. The peculiar meticulousness of Stiles’ speech patters painted a picture in Derek’s mind, colorful and wonderful and magical. But all too real.

“Di-did you love him?” Derek’s voice cracked just a bit as he finally used his voice, while Stiles drained the last bit of his Jack, not even waiting until he got some Dr. Pepper with which he could split it. On that last drink, Stiles’ sputtered, coughing out the last dribble, a bit of spittle sliding down the side of his lip.

“I…” Stiles’ seemed to disappear from his body for a minute, leaving his face slack and blank before he returned to his mind, “I guess I did.”

“I’m probably stepping over some line hear, but hell, he wasn’t your first, yeah?” Derek said, feeling slightly awkward taking advantage as Stiles’ drunkenness.

“He definitely wasn’t my first fuck,” Stiles chuckled to himself for a moment, “but I guess I loved him. But I don’t really love people. But I guess…” Again, he faded from his body, leaving his physical self empty.

“Hey,” Derek furrowed his distinct brown and leaned a little in towards Stiles, “even if it was the first, it won’t be the last.”

“You could say that. But there’s no proof.” Stiles’ spoke in an ironically sober tone, even though he was thoroughly drunk, and probably would struggle to even stand.

“I promise you. For example,” Derek straightened his back, mentally smacking himself for what he was about to say, something far too personal to be sharing with the boy he’d just met, “I’ve been in love with many people, but each time it feels different, always good before it falls apart. Like my last, she was a bit of a mess, but we had some really good times, before…” Derek paused, biting the skin of his lip, “you know how it goes.”

“Derek, bud,” Stiles leaned in and slung his arm around Derek’s shoulder, “I know someone like yourself – someone who just unintentionally oozes sexual power – will be able to find love. What you don’t seem to get, is that I literally am the most awkward person and I’m really not that attractive.” Stiles leaned it, whispering, “I fake it!”

“I don’t exactly see why you say you’re awkward and not attractive. I, he who oozes sexual power,” Derek quirked an eyebrow and smirked, “allegedly… does not agree with your statement.”  
Stiles let his mouth fall open, squinting through the drunken haze to make sure he was still talking to Mr. Tall, Dark and Ridiculously Handsome. He sure as hell looked like the same guy. “What?” Stiles spoke slowly as though he were in more disbelief than he actually was.

“I’m just saying that you are really easy to talk to, even though you do a lot of the speaking, and that I for one, find you very attractive.”

Stiles head was spinning and he couldn’t quite distinguish whether or not it was from the alcohol or the very attractive man. He took a second to try to corral his thoughts, having very little success. “What?” He repeated, still trying to make sense.

“I’m saying you. Are. Hot. And I would love to put my tongue down your throat and bite at your neck.”

Stiles flushed, feeling as though all the blood in his body had rushed to his groin, making him stutter and breathe heavily. He felt his hands shake and start to feel sweaty. He couldn’t quite register whether or not this was in his head or this was actually happening. Then he made up his mind when Derek began to lean in.

“Trust me,” Derek seductively whispered, placing his hand on Stiles’ side, letting his fingers stand as a support for Stiles’ back. “Give me two week and I promise, you won’t even recognize whatever his name is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be away for a while, but I really think this one could be good, so bear with me if you want to know how it ends!!! And as always, thank you so much for reading, even if it isn't very good!!! Also, sorry for a short chapter!!!


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